From a Servant's View
by Thistle of Liberty
Summary: A look on the developing relationship between Athos and Aramis, from Grimaud's POV. Athos/Aramis. This is slash.


_Warning! This story depicts a relationship between two male adults. If this is likely to offend you, do not read on._

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It has always been my belief that a nobleman always is in the right and my master is, in every respect except outward dissemblance, a nobleman. So even though I was surprised when he took a lover I did not dream of condemning him. Of course one could argue; a musketeer taking a lover, what is strange in that? But it was strange for my master. For years, since his wife's death, he had not even had one night of love making. He had thrown looks at neither women nor men and whilst his companions spoke of their latest conquests he sat silent, watching and listening with a tolerant smile. Monsieur Porthos talking of his duchesses and countesses, monsieur Aramis speaking of barmaids and wenches and monsieur d'Artagnan listening with a smile and now and again making a comment. All through these drunken conversations my master would stay silent and drink even more than normally.

Then one night monsieur Aramis came home with my master. It was nothing unusual about it for my master's friends often came home with him at the most strange hours. But monsieur Aramis did not return home. This was not all too unusual either; the musketeers would often stay at each other's homes when they were drunk or wounded or simply could not bother returning home. What was strange, and what surprised me, was that I was not told to prepare our guest room or even to fetch a blanket for monsieur Aramis. No, that night the most clerical of all my master's friends spent the night in the count's bedroom. It struck me as odd, for my master had a fully functioning guest room and when there was no time to prepare it my master's friends would sleep on the couch or in a chair. I thought it at first only a stroke of fancy on monsieur Aramis' part, for the count never had such peculiar ideas, even if the purpose of such an arrangement went by me.

If this alone was not enough to make me suspect something had changed in the two musketeer's relationship the next morning's events did. I was, as usually, up early, preparing breakfast for my master who was always a moderately early riser. He did not, in any case, dwell in bed until close to noon as I know some gentlemen to do. I was therefore in the middle of laying out two sets of plates, for I expected monsieur Aramis to take breakfast with the count, when said man came rushing out my master's bedroom. He was much different than his usual calm self; his hair was ruffled, his face flushed and his clothing in an almost embarrassing disorder. When he caught sight of me he stopped and I am close to certain that he gulped.

"Oh", he said, and this in itself was notable indeed for monsieur Aramis rarely had difficulty finding words suitable for any occasion. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and threw a glance at the door to the bedroom. "Grimaud."

"Monsieur", I said and bowed respectfully. He looked up at the door he had just come out of again and opened his mouth as if to say something. He stood thusly for a moment, his mouth open and his eyes uncertainly darting all over the room, before he seemed to make up his mind. Without as much as a nod in my direction he quickly ran off. It pains me to describe the worthy gentleman's behaviour in such an undignified fashion but I feel that my duty to truth is greater than that to the monsieur's pride. I admit that I stood baffled for a moment. Monsieur Aramis was a most well-mannered young man and I had never before seen him behave in such a way. However, my master's entrance soon broke my reverie. If monsieur Aramis had acted out of character the count was, if such a thing is possible, more like himself than usually. He surveyed the room, and me, with a curt glance and then sat down in his accustomed seat.

"You can remove the other plate", he said. "Aramis shan't be taking breakfast with me."

I bowed and did as instructed. While I was out in the kitchen I fetched a bottle of wine and the serving plate with the count's breakfast. My master indicated, once I had entered the room again, that I should put it on the table. I naturally obeyed but not without, I am ashamed to say, carefully studying his countenance. No one but me would have noticed it, I am sure, but to me who have known the count longer than nearly anyone else, it was apparent that he was in a thoughtful mood. He exhibited none of the signs that most men show when deep in thought, such as stroking their beard or biting their lips, but a certain veiled-like quality to his eyes and the very soft frown on his brow revealed that he was in fact immersed in contemplation. I assumed that it was connected to the same occurrence which had put monsieur Aramis into such an agitated state but what that was I could not guess.

After making sure my master had everything he desired I made my way to his bedroom. I walked slowly to give him time to stop me, in case there was something there which he did not want me to see. He did not however and I entered the room. It looked no different than it did all other mornings when my master had in fact gone to bed the night before. I made the bed swiftly and put away the few objects that were not already in their places and it was then, when I was returning a book to its place in the shelf, that I noticed it. A shirt of very sheer fabric of the tight fitting type that many gentlemen wear under their regular shirt if the weather is cold. My master was not one of them. I knew quite positively that there was in the count's wardrobe no such garment as the one I was holding in my hand. Monsieur Aramis however... That he might have such an article of clothing was quite likely, and as there was no other explanation for the shirt's presence in my master's bedroom I drew the conclusion that it was indeed monsieur Aramis' shirt. With a final look around me, ensuring that everything was in order, I left the room.

The count was sitting where I had left him, still busy with his breakfast. He did not turn as I entered and I put the shirt away on a nearby chair, not wanting to disturb him in the middle of his meal. He must have heard my movements though, for when I was just about to leave him again he spoke up.

"What is it, Grimaud?" he asked. Since he preferred it if I did not speak I retrieved the shirt from its position over the back of the chair and went to show it to him. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the garment and reflexively stretched out a hand for it. After examining it for a brief moment he returned it to me.

"It belongs to Aramis", he said. I nodded and held it up. I tilted my head inquisitively in a silent question.

"I will return it to him", my master replied. "It would embarrass him if you did."

I bowed and with that I left him. I folded the shirt and put it on a chair where my master would clearly see it and then went on with my business. For the whole day I could, however, not banish the question from my mind; why would it embarrass monsieur Aramis that I returned his left behind clothing to him? Obviously the same reason he had hurriedly left my master's lodgings in the state he had. It lead me no closer to discovering what that reason was, though.

Since then, for this had occurred a few weeks earlier, I had begun to suspect the reason. Monsieur Aramis spent many more nights in the count's bedroom and it became more rule than exception that he had breakfast with my master. I did occasionally catch an exchange of looks between him and the count. Monsieur Aramis would glance at me and raise his eyebrows enquiringly at my master who would shake his head a little with a small smile. Usually monsieur Aramis then rolled his eyes in a most exasperated manner and shook his own head. Of course I was not intended to notice these exchanges and I conscientiously pretended that I did not. It seemed to me as if monsieur Aramis and my master shared a secret to which I was not supposed to be privy. In the beginning I could not guess the nature of this secret but as the weeks went by I began to suspect.

It is known to everyone who has lived in this world as I have that there are men who instead of women prefer other men. The practice is widespread and it is rumoured that several noblemen of very high standing indeed share this preference. Slowly I began to form the suspicion that my master and monsieur Aramis where two of these men. It was the only explanation I could find for their actions and though it seemed strange, especially considering monsieur Aramis' well-known weakness for the fairer sex, I quickly became convinced that the count and monsieur Aramis were in fact, for lack of better word, lovers. Which brings me back to my starting point. That my master would take a lover, any lover, was strange. That he would take monsieur Aramis as his lover was far beyond strange. I was surprised, and I was puzzled, but I did not let it show in my actions in any way. However the count was more than intelligent enough to realise that this change could not go unnoticed by me. One day he called me to him as he was having supper.

"Grimaud", he said, coldly. "You have, I assume, noticed that Aramis spends more and more time here."

I nodded in reply and he seemed content with that answer, pausing to take a mouthful of his wine before he continued.

"Have you also concluded what the precise nature of our relationship is?"

I hesitated a moment and he raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"You may speak", he added.

"Thank you", I said with a bow. "I believe I have, monsieur."

"You do not wish to speak it, though?" the count asked me. He had that dangerous tone to his voice which often indicated that someone was about to die and I, against my will I might add, felt afraid. I think that anyone who has known my master for more than a fleeting moment has known that feeling. The count is the most well-mannered and noble of men, but sometimes it is as if the fire inside him, which he conceals with coldness, breaks out and then no-one wants to be near him. At times like those I fear him.

"I will speak it if you wish me to, monsieur", I said quietly, trying to make him understand that it was simply out of wish not to embarrass him that I kept quiet. For now I was convinced I was right in my assumptions and I knew that my master would never seek to punish me for speaking the truth. I felt his eyes on me for what seemed like minutes. At times I almost begin to believe in the old legends of men possessing the ability to see through you and read you innermost thoughts; that is how penetrating his crystal-like gaze seemed.

"There is no need", he said after the long silence. "I see that you have indeed understood. You may go."

I left him with a deep bow. That was all that was ever said upon the subject between us. Not that we ever spoke much, the count was a silent man and I was so used to him that I too was silent, but at least my master would touch upon everyday subjects with a few phrases now and again. Not he and monsieur Aramis, though. That was forbidden territory. Not even when I was required to return some forgotten garment to monsieur Aramis did my master give the slightest indication that it was something out of the ordinary. And this, monsieur Aramis forgetting clothing, was quite common. The count's company seemed to render him distraught. What his company did to my master I cannot say, but I am certain it was something good.

Apart from this they were discreet. I never saw them _together_, in the way one might expect, until over two months after I had had my suspicions confirmed. That occasion, however, was quite memorable. Monsieur Aramis had been in a duel, over a lady paradoxically enough, with a young nobleman. The nobleman was somewhat renowned for his prowess with the sword and from the little I heard of my master and his companions' conversation the count did not approve of the duel. It was, and this is his own words; "inexplicable folly, and what is more, dangerous folly, all for some imagined slight on some temperamental lady's honour". His words angered monsieur Aramis who left the table without as much as saying good bye. My master would have followed him, either to console him or scold him, but monsieur Porthos stopped him and went after their friend himself. Minutes later monsieur d'Artagnan left as well, bound for guard duty. The count, left alone, sank into a brooding mood and he spent the rest of the day reading Greek philosophy, refusing to leave his room.

He sat there until the evening, only once breaking the silence reigning in the empty house by calling for a bottle of wine. I was beginning to worry, fearing that he would sink into one of the long melancholy periods that struck him once in a while, when the front door opened and monsieur Aramis entered. He seemed unharmed, and the smile on his features quickly told me that he had won the duel. When he noticed the heavy silence of the house, for my master's silences are often heavy, his smile disappeared.

"Is he in his room?" he asked worriedly and when I nodded he gave me a small smile in thanks before taking off up the stairs. He pulled the door into the bedroom open and, without knocking, entered. However, he forgot to close the door. This was such an occasion, and there are such in every life, where it is difficult to know what is right not only morally but according to etiquette. I could of course not interrupt my master by closing the door but it would be equally inappropriate not to. After a few moments' consideration I decided that leaving it open would be the most correct option, since it was monsieur Aramis who had thrown it open. This did mean that there was risk I would hear their conversation, or at least part of it, but there was nothing to be done about it.

"Ah, it is you", I heard my master's voice and in my defence I wish to add that I here withdrew into the kitchen, but alas! it did not extinguish the voices from my hearing.

"It is", monsieur Aramis replied. After a moment's silence he continued. "I was successful in the duel."

"I can see that", the count said, with perfect coolness.

"And you are not happy?" monsieur Aramis asked, and even as far away as I was I could hear the pleading in his voice. My master sighed.

"Of course I am happy", he said. "But I would have been happier still if you had not engaged in such a foolish duel at all."

"It is not my habit to accept insult without retaliation!"

"And you are right in that; but since the insult was imagined could you not have contented with imagined retaliation?"

I flinched at the words, for even though they were not directed at me it was impossible to miss the deep biting sarcasm behind the question.

"You insult me, Athos", monsieur Aramis said and his words were filled with barely clouded rage. I should not have liked to stand in either man's way.

"Intelligent you may be, my dear Aramis", said the count, "but in that you are mistaken. I speak driven solely by devotion and love and therefore my words are no more insult than when I say "I love you". If you find them offensive it is only because I have failed to make my love known to you."

"Oh, Athos!" exclaimed monsieur Aramis, his anger forgotten. "I do not doubt your love for me, for you have said you love me and I know you to be an honourable man. Perhaps it was foolish to fight this duel; nay, it was probably foolish since you say so, but I do not wish to argue about it. Do you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive", my master said.

"Then embrace me to show that you harbour no anger!" monsieur Aramis cried and the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard.

"Wait!" ordered the count. "You have not closed the door!"

There were some more sounds of different types before the door was finally closed. I heard no more of their conversation and I am glad I did not; for where it has to be expected by a servant to sometimes overhear his master's conversations he does not expect to listen to his master's most intimate moments. It was with relief I returned to my ordinary duties, for during the recorded exchange I had not moved. Without any interruptions I went on doing the necessary chores until a little over a quarter of an hour after the conversation I had heard.

"Grimaud!", my master's voice rang out. I sprang up from my place at the table in the kitchen, polishing silver, and hurried up the stairs to my master's room. Before I reached the door I heard monsieur Aramis' protests.

"Athos, you are joking!" he said, a tone of franticness in his voice. "You cannot mean to let him see..."

"Do not be ridiculous", the count ordered. "He is my servant."

Then I reached the door and entered immediately. Both gentlemen were in bed, naked as far I could see, and there was not much doubt to what they had been doing before I entered. My master was stretched out comfortably on the bed, his body covered by the sheets. He was perched on his elbow and was studying monsieur Aramis with a worried frown. Monsieur Aramis on the other hand was sitting up, the upper part of his body completely bare and his hair in extreme disarray. He was glaring angrily at the count but as I entered he transferred his glare to me. The glare quickly lost its power though because almost as soon as I entered the young musketeer blushed deeply.

"Ah, Grimaud!" the count greeted me. "We have need of you. Aramis conveniently forgot to mention to me that even though he won his duel he acquired a wound in the thigh..."

Monsieur Aramis blush darkened and he looked down into the sheets, mumbling something inaudible.

"Fetch us water and bandages", my master ordered, ignoring his friend. I obeyed with a deep bow and hurried off to fetch the required items. When I returned my master was sitting up next to monsieur Aramis, solemnly talking to him in hushed tones. He turned when I entered and indicated that I should approach with a movement of his head.

"Lie down, Aramis", he said. The monsieur looked about to protest when the count anticipated him and pushed him down on the mattress.

"'Tis not the right time to argue", he explained in reply to monsieur Aramis' offended glare. He then beckoned for me to come over with the supplies I carried and from my hands he took a towel and began to carefully clean the wound in monsieur Aramis' thigh. Monsieur Aramis was, where the count was composed and calm, extensively embarrassed. His fair skin was burning with a deep blush and he refused to look up from the careful study he was submitting the bed sheets to.

"I do not understand how you could be so foolish as to not inform me you were wounded...", my master gently scolded. "What if it had been serious? Would you die in arms rather than face the small trial of having your wound seen to?"

"Athos...", monsieur Aramis complained. "We are not alone."

It was understandable that he would be embarrassed to be scolded in front of a servant, even though he must certainly know that I was the least likely to gossip about it. If it was that my respect for him would lessen he feared he need not have worried; that my master cared enough for him to exert himself by reproaching him only served to put him higher in my esteem, for the count was particular in choosing his friends; he had only three. Monsieur Porthos was a loyal and brave gentleman, and though I clearly saw that his boisterous talk sometimes annoyed my master he cared deeply for him and would rather die than have it believed that monsieur Porthos was unworthy of his company. There was now also young monsieur d'Artagnan. He was a Gascon in every way; clever, fiery and sharp. My master cared for him as he might for a child or a much younger brother; with much devotion, advice and a certain amusement. Then there was monsieur Aramis. Of the count's three friends monsieur Aramis was the one he talked to the most, even before the change in their relationship. The discussed subjects I could not possibly understand; philosophy, science, arts and mathematics. And theology, of course. Sometimes in the evenings monsieur Aramis would read Latin theses to my master and they would discuss them for hours. Or rather, monsieur Aramis would talk and my master would comment. At times it seemed almost as if monsieur Aramis could one day replace wine.

"I had not forgotten", my master replied to monsieur Aramis' complaint. "I cannot do this by myself but if you wish I shall have Grimaud fetch Porthos or d'Artagnan to assist me instead."

"No", monsieur Aramis hurriedly assured the count. "No, Grimaud is quite sufficient."

"Very well. Roll over on your side, please."

Monsieur Aramis did as he was bid and my master continued to clean the injury. It was not particularly deep and it had obviously been a clean thrust so there was not much risk for any serious consequences but nevertheless my master seemed quite upset. Monsieur Aramis had closed his eyes and was lying completely still, moving his lips quickly as if praying. The count continued in his operation with all his, through much practice acquired, skill and soon, with my assistance, the wound was dressed neatly. Monsieur Aramis still did not open his eyes. After a worried glance at his companion my master dismissed me with a flick of the hand and signed for me to get wine. There was no risk I could have misinterpreted the order for it was one of the most common ones my master gave me and I have no doubt I would recognise it even in my sleep.

When I returned with the wine, a Spanish sort I knew my master was very fond of, monsieur Aramis had curled up closer to my master. As I slowly entered, carefully balancing the bottle and the glasses in my hands, he flinched and recoiled from the count who pretended not to notice his sudden motion and hindered his movement with a firm arm. Reluctantly monsieur Aramis sank back and put his head on my master's shoulder with an exaggerated sigh. My master gestured for me to hand over the glass and I did so. Monsieur Aramis then accepted one of the glasses from my master's hand, still with a slight pout gracing his delicate features.

"I do wish that you would at least pretend that I have some say in my actions", he complained.

"You have too much say, Aramis", said the count. "If I were to decide you would not involve yourself in so much folly."

"No, indeed I would not. I would spend all my days here with you discussing the general inadequacy of mankind."

"Would that be so horrible?" my master asked with a soft smile. Monsieur Aramis gave him a thoughtful look, as if considering how to reply.

"No", he finally conceded. "But you know; variátio delectat."

"Indeed", the count said and smiled indulgently at his younger friend. He then motioned for me to come over and pour up their wine. After placing the bottle on the bedside table I bowed to them both and was dismissed with a wave of my master's hand. As I was descending down the stair I heard their voices behind me; monsieur Aramis was talking at length, peppering his speech with Latin quotes, and finally my master's affectionate voice ordering him to be quiet. I smiled. My master's mood was bad, but before he had made friends of messieurs Porthos and Aramis it had been worse and now, with monsieur Aramis as his lover, it was better than ever. From a servant's humble point of view monsieur Aramis' further presence in our house was definitely desirable.

_Fin_

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_A/N: Well, that's that! My first proper slash story. Not that it's very graphic or explicit or anything, but it is slash._

_Thank you for reading and please leave a review. _


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